back to pen and paper vol 5:
I am seeking
answers that make sense and
sense that is not
so common
I am finding words
that pierce the fingertips of
creation. Thoughts sting
like I can't stay patient
around
nonsense
buzzing. There is a home inside these lungs.
I will someday breathe growth
onto mossy caves. Stone me
like concave memories. We close our eyes and make
waterfalls.
They're fucking beautiful. We are lost.
Sometimes
We are finding things other than
ourselves.
I am here
found
in a language
I haven't learned
to love
yet.
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